


the twitch

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Cabin Fic, Established Relationship, F/M, Fireplaces, Fluff, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Coital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5066449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson has an expressive jaw and Daisy likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the twitch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skyepilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/gifts), [notcaycepollard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/gifts).



"This right... _here_ , this is where I learn to read you," she is saying, touching the tip of her index to the spot just to the right of his chin.

"Mm-uh?" he mutters, snuggling up to her on the couch.

"Well, that and your hands," she explains. "You have a very expressive jaw, Director."

"I do?"

She settles on his lap, pressing his back against the cushions. Not the most comfortable safehouse ever but they're glad to be naked and wrapped in all the blankets they could find and in front of the fire. They weren't planning on turning this night into a mini-vacation but the weather means no extraction team until the morning and his foot being on the mend means they can't walk out of here on their own, exactly.

It is still technically the mission, he thinks as Daisy slides her finger to the side of his jaw, scratching against the stubble already forming, and maybe it's a bit unprofessional to just lazy around like this, but it's hard enough for them to catch a break with this, it's hard enough to make time to be alone – they're never really alone in the base – and the guilt he feels is the sweet, self-indulgent kind. He knows they're being a bit naughty here and he likes it.

"Yeah you do," Daisy tells him, pressing a quick kiss to the other side of his jaw. "Your jaw does this – uh – this _twitch_ when you're frustrated with me."

"Really?"

"No pocker face at all," she comments fondly.

"I think I do all right," he says, a bit defensive.

She flutters her eyes at him.

"I could always tell when you wanted to say something to me but didn't. I can always tell when you're _hiding_ something."

Now she brushes her lips slowly across it, dotting soft tiny kisses as she goes. Coulson moves his hand to the small of her back, not pulling her, not pressing her, just leaving it there.

The first time they were together (predictably and a bit shamefully – from his point of view – in his office) she also kissed his jaw like this, dropping feather-light lips across its curve, he remembers. He wonders if she has always been curious about it. He can't believe it's been over a month since then – it feels like yesterday and much longer.

"I could also always tell when you were _frustrated_ with me," she adds and she's the one with the expressive hands right now.

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. You were so busted and you didn't even know it," she teases him.

He likes the way she calls him _busted_ and he guesses he was, wasn't he. Because Daisy has been _frustrating_ him for a while now. He wraps his fingers around her hipbone, her skin hot and still a bit damp with sweat.

"It's like a lie detector, really," Daisy adds. "If I put my finger here and ask you a question I'm sure your jaw twitching would give it away."

Amused that she has considered something as small as the twitching of his jaw so much, scared because she knows him so well, and now things are like this between then and he still feels vertigo because this is new for him – the intensity, the hope, it's nothing like he's felt before, at least not since he was twenty or so.

"Let's test that theory of yours," he tells her, cocky (she can't possibly tell, can she?), grabbing her hand and pressing her fingertips against his face.

Daisy takes the challenge, propping herself on her knees, bare tighs sliding against his. 

"Do you like how the mission turned out, that we got stranded here?" she asks.

"No," he lies, his jaw moving against her touch. "That would be _unprofessional_."

"Lie," she says, mouthing each letter, brushing her lips against his for a moment, sounding pleased.

He smiles. He's very unprofessional. It's taken him decades.

"Are you cold?" Daisy asks.

"Is that a trick question?"

"What? No, no, you just look cold right now."

She pulls the blankets up his body.

"A bit, the arm," he says. He's not wearing his prosthetic – it bothers him when he's on his own so he takes it off, and even in such a short space he's become comfortable with taking off when he's with Daisy too. In a short time since they became lovers he's become comfortable with Daisy knowing the full extent of these intimate complications, a body that is not quite right, and she must feel like he reciprocates, because it's not just superpowers under her skin.

"May I?" she asks.

He nods.

She starts vibrating the air over his skin and Coulson holds his breath, looking, like he always unconsciously holds his breath a moment whenever she uses her powers, even on the field, because he's in the presence of something so huge and wondruous that it's a sin to breathe. This huge thing is gentle now, the powers caressing his arm without touching him, and little by little the cold starts ebbing away like his arm is being dipped in warm water very slowly, even the nerve endings connected to the dock of his robot hand are soothed by a feeling of relief.

"Better?" she asks.

He can't help but ask. "How do you do that?"

"With _a lot_ of practice," Daisy replies. "To make sure I didn't hurt myself or others with it. Might be useful, right?"

Coulson has a flashback to eighteen years ago, this time actually stranded on a failed mission outside Quebec and thinking his life was over because he didn't bring appropriate thermal clothing to what wasn't supposed to be a combat op. So yes, this could definitely be useful.

She brings her hand to his cheek, dropping it to his jaw again in the spirit of science. "Do you like it when I use my powers on you?" she asks.

"I do," he admits. "I hope that doesn't bother you."

She shakes her head, reaching behind her to caress Coulson's ankle, swollen from a bad fall as they completed the mission. Daisy had to basically drag him across the cabin door, arm under his shoulder. She had insisted he rested while she took care of everything: contacting the team for an extraction, starting the fireplace, digging some food from the back of the cupboards. She hadn't let him get up from the couch at all and he ended up _nesting_ there, he didn't even have to get up when Daisy used her powers to move it closer to the fire. They had a frugal dinner and made love on the same spot. He's not used to be cared for like this, he's not used to _liking_ it.

Daisy is now kissing his collarbone, pressing her body against his chest – a different kind of warmth – and moving her open mouth up his neck. This time she is all teeth, nibbling on the curve of his jaw that she so carefully had drawn before, biting down and them pressing her tongue against the reddened spot to soothe it. He squirms on the couch every time, curling the toes of his good foot every time.

"Do you like this?" she breathes, hot, against his skin.

He closes his eyes, lets out a satisfied affirmative sound.

They are still getting to know each other in this way – which is funny because he had supposed they knew everything there was to know before. But Daisy as a lover is quite different to Daisy as a subordinate, as a partner, as a friend. And this way is much more fun than Coulson simply telling her he likes biting, as long as it doesn't hurt, thank making a list of yeses and noes for her.

Her mouth moves to the side of his head, she stops biting and starts sucking on the spot under Coulson's ear. The comfortable hazy lazy feeling he had before is beginning to disappear, she's going to make him restless like this. Maybe he wants her to.

"Come on, Daisy, you can do better. Ask me something _hard_."

He moves his hips against her, half hard from her kissing and biting him, making her chuckle with the gesture. Juvenile. It's taken him a lifetime to get to this.

"Fine, fine," she says, then narrows her eyes at him and Coulson knows he's in trouble. She draws her hand like a magician about to perform a trick, he can feel her pulse on the pad of her thumb, unrushed, in control of everything. "Tell me... Do you still call me _Skye_ in your head?"

She doesn't need to notice the twitch in his jaw, Coulson just swallows.

"Ah," she says, amused.

"I'm sorry," he tells her honestly.

"You don't have to," she tells him. "I'm not bothered by it anymore. That means you probably thought a lot about me while I had that name."

"I've always thought a lot about you," he says, innocently.

She drops her other hand to his stomach.

"Did you think about _this_? Doing this with me, back when we first met."

"Of course not."

Daisy laughs. It's a bit like when she used her powers on him.

"Wow, I think you might have broken the lie detector with that one," she says.

She drops her head chuckling in such a pitiless manner, her hair falling on his shoulder. When she looks up at him again Coulson smiles – too late too close too involved now, safe in the knowledge that Daisy always realized he'd never take advantage. It lies between them, this cushioning trust. Even in this short time, they know it will break any fall.

Coulson sighs, admitting defeat. He wraps his arms around her back and pulls her in for a kiss.

"I like it, you know," Daisy says. "This twitch of your jaw."

"Mm-uh."

"I like knowing what you're thinking," she explains, dropping her hand to his chest; her fingers are cold and they feel strangely good against the perpetually-itchy edges of his scar. Her eyes shine. "You wear your heart on your sleeve, Phil."

He likes it, too, knowing he can't hide from her, knowing they have that in common.


End file.
